I heard, the security guard
remark, in passing...

Yeah, be dark soon, reminds me of a time, a cousin
of mine, kilt a rather dark skinned child...

Cold and old,
and worthless dead than alive,
I can imagine,
there's a reason for the season
being as, just
about now, like clockwork, in the movies,
days begin to linger, longer, some
part of the end, lingers, peaceful, yeh,

remember those koi ponds, on the cliffs
in Encinitas, yes,
yes, we all do, we did that walk together,
there is an old carp there, who makes this peace
take
it, feel me see you think a real isation sensation
blame me,
dang me, I did not know the gun was loaded.

Et tu, eh, brute. Bully, you dance,
Richochet, as the Cajuns say,

my cousin, Sidney Dancer, was told to dance,
and he drew- touch
a trigger and the aim was off, he, hit the real
Michelle, a guys name, among his kind,
Flores, and worse,
he was Sidney Dancer's friend, and we were
eleven, goin' on twelve.

*****, was as bad then as now, I guess, but
Sid was no *****, as a kid.
Nor was Michelle, but he was not a kid that long.

You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days.
Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days
Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were.
But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away.
Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear,
That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves?
That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists?
That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God?

Don’t let it pass you by because
Even though it’s only out the train window if you
Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the
Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

I remember the touch of your hand
Still like a soft mist touching my skin
As we held each other on that hill
In the morning, in the fog
Warm water around each other
And the bubbling of the igneous spring
Steam surrounding your eyes like some veil
Beauty eternal, graceful, and serene.

I remember too your hair
Blowing in the wind freely
The salt breeze filling our breath
The horizon burnt in orange
Cool breeze dancing off the waves
Gulls gleefully cry above
The bobbing of the ferry
Steady, your head on my shoulder.

I remember more when I was sick
And chills racked me with exhaustion
You stayed that night, holding me close
The hum of traffic around our room
Your heat was warmer than the tea you made
And your breath a lullaby
Lights of cars flashing in the room
Stars in your russet eyes.

I remember Christmas morning,
Our coffee steaming in the veranda
The yuletide silence as we sat together
The bay and piers alight in flaming red
Your yukata flowed gracefully
And the sun rested on your cheeks
Lit as well as the hills around the sea
Your smile, a pearl among them.

I remember the last time
Neither of us slept
Two losses in one night
One a friend
One you, for longer than I thought
The beginning of three years
But I still remember you
You cried, I held you
I remember and always will.

the poem i resist digs deeper into my chest like a buried soulmate. it grows blurry and distant until i can’t find the sharpness of it, but i can still taste how it made me feel. the feeling becomes a dull hunger. the distorted memory of a bite. still gnawing, lost, hopeful that i will give in to my undoing and gruesomely reveal the bloodied shadow of a bluff that has been called home. neither of us can sleep. my teeth ache. when the sky turns purple with torment, i end up in the woods, collecting feathers, consumed in the uncaging of a fire that will never catch

I have cried over many muted memories;
agonized over my failings,
watching time pass through a foggy lens.

I thought the wisdom was worth the wait,
the view must be most beautiful at the end.

But when I look at your face,
filled with bright laughter,
your eyes speckled with joy,
I think, Why not laugh this time?
Just once more?

I'll let myself laugh,
carefully at first,
then to you, my voice lets go.

This must be what I was waiting for;
your face filling with a smile,
this ease, this noise.

There will be others
after you.

But
none are
as you are
to me.